The New York Post's twin pillars of biddy gossip, Liz Smith and Cindy Adams, each have their own particular style. To the average reader, though, it can be hard to discriminate between the elderly pontifications of Smith versus Adams — and what if you only have the time and inclination to choose one of these fine specimens? It may be next to impossible to directly compare Adams's prose ("Trust me, a dress shop on Madison is a college course on life.") to Smith's wit ("Speaking of diamonds, consider Sharon Stone."). Best trust to science and statistics. After the jump, Intern Mary plumbs the last ten columns from both ladies to track the frequency of jokey turns of phrase, celebrity name-dropping, and backhanded or overt bitchy comments.

Both Liz Smith and Cindy Adams run relatively wattled-neck-and-wattled-neck in the bitchery department, salting their columns with a catty remark or three like clockwork. Adams takes the lead in humorous asides, most of which go down like a glassful of fiber supplement powder. But Smith usually blows Adams away for name dropping, as many of Smith's columns contain nearly as many boldface names as connective verbiage. Ultimately these are cosmetic differences of course, but ladies of a certain age have a tendency to cling to superficial comforts like the proverbial grim death.